


Ahonui

by CowandCalf



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Coda 9.01, Comfortfest2018, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Danny, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowandCalf/pseuds/CowandCalf
Summary: The morning after is always the worst. Coda to 9.01.





	Ahonui

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N**  
>  Posted as part of the [Comfortfest2018](http://thekristen999.tumblr.com/post/178601662671/comfort-fest-2018) writing challenge on Tumblr. A big thank you to @thekristen999 and @saphirabluish for this inspiring challenge. My muse loves you for presenting me always new ways to tickle my inspiration and my writing skills.
> 
> **Ahonui** means patience in Hawaiian.
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  I don't own the characters or the show. No profit is being made from my stories. I only claim plot points.
> 
> My story is beta read by my awesomesauce friend [indiepjones46](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiepjones46/pseuds/indiepjones46). Thank you so much, Indie, for your precious beta read on my story. Your support is outstanding and unique. You always have my back. Your love and your passion for words and writing spur me on to do better, to increase my knowledge. You're my rock and you mean the world to me. 
> 
> All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> I hope you like it.

Danny wakes up with his mind still numb. The sudden change of awareness is harsh. He blinks in confusion and grunts silently when his heartbeat spikes sharply, drumming achingly hard in his ribcage. He bats his eyelids, adjusting to the dim light in his room, lying stock-still, feeling hot, too hot. Sweat, slick as oil, covers his skin. His fingers dig into his damp shirt while he inhales swiftly following with his senses his own pulse pounding even behind his eyes. He hates to wake up feeling battered with a headache and momentarily disoriented with a nanosecond of a blank mind.

He turns his head to the side and wonders what has woken him. He strains his ears. Yes, there it is – silence. Exactly. That's the reason his unconsciousness has pushed him into a nervous mess, tearing him from his restless slumber. He hears _nothing_.

A wave of adrenaline rushes through his body, making him feel weak and highly alert in equal parts. Danny swings his legs over the edge of the bed and breathes for a few moments, his hands shaking. His crazy heart doesn't calm down, this stupid thing. His back is killing him. Last night's payback for the hunched position in which he has crouched down at the support point for hours, guarding the ship, his stomach cold as stone, one hard knot with a sickening feeling rising like the fucking tide. Steve. Jesus. It always ends and begins with Steve. The morning after is always a bitch. Danny feels old, his scalp itches and his body is unforgiving with what he has imposed upon it.

Steve and this lack of noise send him reeling while sitting quietly on the mattress. Danny pinches his eyes together, burying his face in his hands. The house is too quiet. It shouldn't be so quiet.

He hasn't let Steve out of sight after he's saved him from getting choked to death under water. Danny has hurried towards the water to haul his exhausted body out from the creepy space-like sensory deprivation tank. He hasn't processed yet what the fuck they have been talking about right after he's rescued Steve.

Nothing makes sense and why has Steve felt the need to make stupid, perplexing comments when all Danny has wanted was an honest to God answer to make sure Steve has been okay. And maybe he has hoped for a short, awkward and tensed hug. Is this too much to ask? An easy hug after such a disastrous experience? Danny has been desperately in need for physical contact. And Steve hasn't let him provide any support. Steve has brushed every comfort off and to top the whole hellish mission he throws a hastily mumbled 'I love you' in between. This is unbelievable, and Danny can't deal with any of it. 

They haven't discussed where to go. They haven't discussed anything at all and isn't this boringly unsurprising? Danny has driven them to Steve's house, assuming Steve would feel better in his own home, in his own bed in case there would be a mental breakdown or some similar, horrible incident after all the crazy shit Steve has undergone. At least everything here smells like Steve and home and safety. 

Danny is afraid to look up all the negative effects that might occur after enduring this kind of sick torture. He is lost to how Steve must feel after more than six hours in that horror tank stuffed in a ridiculous red latex-rubber suit. He can't even quirk a smirk at that sight. There are so many ways Steve can lose his mind, slipping between worlds where Danny can't follow. Steve's SEAL training doesn't make him invincible. He's a man of flesh and blood, and Danny knows he has his limits, too. His bar is just set so much higher. Stupid, reckless, Neanderthal animal! Steve, huh?

Danny is still too shell-shocked about the outrageous possibility of losing Steve, and his heart still tries to punch a hole through his chest.

Danny slips from the bed and tiptoes into the hallway to sneak across to Steve's room. He peeks inside, anxiously holding his breath until he makes out a movement from under this lump, lying there curled up, facing away from the door and covered in sheets. Only a puff of tousled black hair crowns the strangely small rolled-up body. Danny exhales shakily. Steve's huddled frame rises and falls rhythmically. He's alive and he sleeps. Danny's relief is so strong he instantly feels sick.

Steve's bedroom is filled with sunshine, not the bright, blinding light of the midday sun, but a clear morning light, comforting and soothing. The windows are wide open, and the breaking waves are a meditative background noise, as is the rustling wind in the nearby trees. Danny has asked Steve several times what feels comfortable, what is unbearable after six hours of brainwash and being forcefully detached from body and sanity. Steve's answers have always been a single grunt, a polite word with his eyes glazed over. He has seemed so far, far away. Danny's heart has been pounding away since the moment Steve has decided to pull through with this risky op. 

Steve's face has been ashen and his eyes unnaturally wide when he's crawled into bed last night. Danny has offered to sleep right by his side, but Steve's been cautious, rejecting Danny's offer. He has insisted that he's fine and Danny has bitten back his growing anger.

His worries are constantly eating at his stomach and what's left from his heart. Who the fuck is fine after this insane treatment? Huh? Steven? Why, can't you just be honest about how you really feel for once? Danny's hand flies to his throat, forcing back this desperate noise crawling onto his tongue. Steve's feared what he might do to Danny in his sleep when his conscious mind has been going to be switched off. He has been convinced that it's safer for Danny to sleep in the guest room. This has broken Danny even more. To have been sent away when he only has been longing for closeness, watching over Steve's sleep, making sure to be there if he needed him.

Danny has done what Steve has asked, falling asleep with bone-deep exhaustion, worried sick what he might discover when he will wake up again.

To see Steve's breathing calms his frayed nerves only a bit. He needs to see Steve's eyes to make sure he's over the worst. He sneaks silently downstairs and opens cupboards and drawers with care, avoiding noise. Steve sleeps. Danny wants to give him as much time as possible to get some rest. 

He is starved for the taste of coffee, but he doesn't dare to use the coffee machine. This could wake Steve from his hopefully dreamless sleep. So, it's hot water and a spoon of Hula Girl instant coffee. Danny is not hungry, his stomach is still upset with his mind held captive with disturbing pictures of Steve fighting for his dear life under water. What if – no, stop it right there. There are no 'ifs', no 'could have' or 'would have'. Danny sways on his feet and he leans heavily against the counter, overpowered by too many emotions he hardly is able to rein in.

What if he came –, he could have –. Danny sucks air into his squeezed lungs. Steve's eyes are haunting him and the way he's said 'fifty years' makes his skin shrink. He has been convinced that this has been it, that Steve has disappeared leaving him behind to deal with an empty shell looking just like him. Danny hasn't recovered from that instant jerk of panic.

Danny's heart gets crushed with this force, his chest caves under the weight of sorrow. Danny white-knuckles the countertop, a drop of sweat runs lazily over his forehead. His vision is fringed, getting blurry, and he tastes blood on his tongue. Danny reaches for his coffee and tries not to crash face first on his way to the couch. He downright ignores his unsteady walk. 

It's okay. Steve's upstairs sleeping. He's safe. He's gonna be alright. He is… everything is going to be alright. Sit, watch TV, stop thinking.

The steaming cup freezes in midair as Danny zaps through all the channels. He's restless and not ready to watch sports or any movie. He can't concentrate, can't follow a storyline, so he ends up with a muted TV where some old episode of Magnum flickers over the screen, showing a car race with the famous red Ferrari. Danny perks up his ears, listening to the tiniest noise coming from the first floor, ready to jump up at any unfamiliar sound. He's all jumbled nerves with a dull throbbing heart. His headache hurts his eyes.

Steve has so far stonewalled all of Danny's well-meant questions about his current condition. Danny can't help it, and every now and then a 'how are you feeling' slips from his mouth before he could even think what the hell he's saying. Danny's lips quiver slightly when he sips from his coffee. He knows it's a SEAL thing. Steve is licking his wounds silently. That's just how he's built. So, Danny gives his best not to ask, because there is almost never an honest answer to that question.

His fingers pluck absentmindedly at his threadbare shorts, feet resting on the coffee table with his eyes staring into space.

Danny doesn't know how many times he will be able to live through moments like these, knowing this op could be the last one and Steve might actually be killed. Danny feels old, hollowed out, his credit used up for dealing with such kind of intense shit. The rush of adventure with the guarantee of a heady kick and an overdose of pure adrenaline feels more like a burden nowadays. The satisfaction of having solved a different, complicated case doesn't have the same victorious feelings attached to it anymore. He's seen too much. Danny craves for different things and it worries him.

The sudden creaking from the stairs leading up to the first floor startles Danny. Steve's coming. Danny hasn't heard him so much as stir in his cocoon of blankets, let alone getting up and stumbling down the stairs. He still holds his cup in front of his face. Danny holds out motionless in his position on the couch and a hundred thoughts race through his mind all at the same time. He doesn't turn his head although his protective instincts yell at him to stand the fuck up and to run to Steve, making sure he's alright.

Danny fights his emotions; he tries to even out his facial expression. His throat is constricted, jammed full with unuttered words. He swallows hard around the forming lump giving him a hard time to breathe calmly. He pretends to drink his lukewarm coffee, watching a muted Magnum with his stupidly huge mustache while he listens keyed-up to the rhythm of Steve's steps coming down the stairs.

It sounds disturbing. Short, tiny breaks are in between, more hiccups in Steve's otherwise fluent strut. And Danny knows Steve's in a terrible shape. He's in pain. His body doesn't recover as fast as it did at a younger age. He's now the older version of himself. Danny works his jaw at that thought, somehow crestfallen knowing that the days of an outstanding, extraordinary SEAL are counted. His heart is clamped together with too much information about how days, months, and years are passing by so fast he doesn't even have time to notice. But somehow, this morning is a constant reminder of everything that seems lost. He has the worst train-wrecked thoughts, but Danny can't fight them off. 

He waits, all his senses focused on the almost silent sound of Steve's footsteps down the stairs.

Danny knows that one day he and Steve will run out of luck. One day he will return home – alone, with the hard task to face the agonizing truth. Because no one will sit with him in the car. Just himself and no Ste… Danny bites hard on the inside of his cheek and tries to choke the silent sob with coffee, gulping down a fair amount of his mug before he breathes normally again. He runs his trembling hand through his unruly hair.

Ops like the one they have dealt with last night are stirring the most terrible nightmares to life. It has been a close call. They both know that, and Danny still feels nauseous, worn thin, like a hollowed melon, scratched empty a tad too thoroughly. 

The couch dips where Steve lowers his bruised body slowly into the cushions, unsuccessfully swallowing the grunt. He must feel terribly sore, and that's a fucking understatement. 

"Hey," Steve's gravelly voice is raw and hurts Danny's ears.

"Hey," Danny inhales softly. All the unasked questions burn on his tongue. He wants to ask how Steve is doing, how he's feeling, and if he needs anything. The fight to hold everything back consumes a lot of Danny's energy, but he keeps his words stuffed behind his closed lips. It's not worth trying to ask questions, because Steve's answer would always be the same, and Danny can't deal with 'I'm fine' right now.

"You're watching this old crap? Muted because? Uhm, awful dialog?" Steve sits in a fake-relaxed position, his voice leaves scars in Danny's ears, reminding him how they had barely made it out alive. "I'm sure this show is about fifty years old, so out of fashion and that – " Danny stops him, lifting his hand and ending involuntarily in karate chop style. He's not casting him a glance. He can't, not yet.

Steve is oblivious when it comes to unnecessary sarcasm. Danny's okay with beating about the bush, not naming the pink elephant in the room. Both know it's there. But he can't – not with what they have been through. He has almost lost Steve, he just – he can't joke about that, about _anything_ right now. Danny's sadness tips from his mind into his body, spreading like ink in water. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, withstands the shudders of hurt rattling through his chest. He cuts Steve off, gently, now with his eyes firmly locked onto the screen. "Don't." He breathes out. That's all.

Danny doesn’t have it in him to rant at Steve, to explain, to complain – to fucking fake an easy-peasy morning mood when all he wants is to yank Steve into his lap and drag his hands over every bruise and every scratch and cut to make sure Steve's okay. But Steve's not that kinda guy. He's a SEAL, dealing differently with that kind of bad shit, and Danny has learned to just let him, to roll with it. Steve gives him no other choice.

Danny's hurting badly, he needs some buffer time.

Steve goes quiet next to him, side-eyes him twice before they both pretend to be watching an old episode of Magnum. At least it takes place in Hawaii; familiarity is very welcome after their horrible night.

"Do you want some coffee?" Danny asks after some minutes, ass half in the air, hoisting himself up from the couch, his empty mug clutched in one hand.

They haven't looked at each other since Steve has sat down on the couch. But Danny waits until he turns his head to meet his eyes. He has still some pillow creases imprinted in his right cheek. Steve's eyes are sunken into their sockets, dark shadows lingering in his face. Danny feels a jab of hurt seeing so much more grey hair in Steve's stubbles and all the swollen flesh covered in the dark red of burst blood vessels. Steve blinks at him, hiding behind a blank face, his gaze guarded, but he nevertheless meets Danny's with no hesitation. Steve's hair looks as messed up as Danny's. Both have rolled right out of bed, not bothering to wash their faces or brush their teeth. A clear indication of their exhausted state.

"I can get it myse – " Steve starts, scooting already to the edge of the couch.

"Do.You.Want.Some.Coffee?" Danny asks again with a special emphasis on every word. He starts to walk to the kitchen, hoping Steve gets the hint to just say 'yes'. Goddamnit.

He hates when Steve rejects the simplest stuff. When he refuses his help. Danny feels so useless, and he knows Steve doesn't like to be pampered. Steve just wants to be treated the same as always. Danny _knows_ that but it doesn't mean he has to get used to it. Also, after over eight years, it deeply hurts to wait behind the strict boundaries Steve draws every time they end in a life and death disaster. 

"Yes, thanks." Steve presses hoarsely from his throat and falls awkwardly back into the fluffy pillows.

Danny places Steve's big coffee on the armrest next to him. It's only half filled with black, freshly brewed, hot coffee, buttered, just like Steve loves it. 

Steve doesn't even blink. He murmurs a soft 'thank you' before Danny glides back to sit next to him, keeping a safe distance between him and Steve. Danny's unsure how much space Steve needs. He has actually thought after being cut off from his own senses Steve would yearn for touch and hugs and Danny's body pressed up to his. He pretends to watch the show, but he notices Steve's awful shaky hands.

Danny knows by now that the winding down of the initial stress reveals a bunch of other symptoms, this aftermath disaster after torture. Danny has filled Steve's mug only half full of coffee. Even though Steve tries to hide it, Danny knows his hands are trembling from the stress of last night's terror, and Danny doesn't want him to feel embarrassed if coffee were to spill all over him. Thus, the half-full mug. These are at least tiny details he can take care of.

Danny switches channels, and they watch some football game in tense silence, emptying their coffees. Steve gets restless, shuffling and squirming in his seat, searching for a comfortable position. Danny assumes the painkillers are wearing off. He sighs, clenching his fist to keep his hand from scrubbing over his face. "Are you hungry?" He asks, lifting his tired body from the couch, collecting both mugs. "I can make some scrambled eggs with bacon and mushrooms," Danny asks nonchalantly.

"Yeah, why not. That would be nice. Thank you, Danny." Steve waits until he has turned his back to him before he clambers to his feet. Danny knows how much he's hurting, pretending everything is fine. He could have just asked Danny to get his painkillers from upstairs. What's the big deal? Danny works his jaw and shuts his eyes. Tired, he's so tired.

From the corner of his eyes, Danny sees Steve stopping and waiting. His low, raspy voice makes Danny flinch. "What – Do you have –? I mean –" Steve croaks behind Danny, clearing his throat. "When are you – what are your plans for today?" Steve asks hesitantly, fingers wrapped around the railing of the stairs.

Danny turns slowly to face him, seeing how the tentative smile drops from Steve's lips the longer Danny doesn't answer. "Are you asking me to stay? _Do you want me to stay_?" Danny demands to know, steady and calm. "Or is everything fine and I can leave you alone to rest and to recover?"

Steve swallows, his face scrunches up for a second before he supports his body weight leaning against the wall.

"Stay." Steve's word wavers, but even if it's barely above a whisper, Danny hears it loud and clear. 

Danny fights the shiver of relief, making him feel weak, trembling. He nods and turns around. He presses both mugs to his chest. "We'll eat breakfast, I'll shower afterward, and I guess you probably need one, too. We can watch more TV if you like." Danny licks his lips, "and if you feel okay, we could head for the beach later. We could eat some ice cream and watch clumsy tourists having their first surf lesson." Danny's chuckle sounds uncertain. Steve watches him quietly with a complicated expression. "We'll drive back home for an easy barbecue dinner, ending the evening with a beer in our chairs staring at the ocean like old men." Danny casts Steve a glance and smiles desultory for the first time this morning. "Mundane stuff, routine, and familiarity are important today, Steve. I'm counting on you to tell me when it's too much." Danny's voice gets stronger and he hopes he expresses his plans firmly. He won't deal with anything else but a 'yes' to his idea. He needs this, too, to spend time with Steve.

Danny can almost hear the cogs whirring in Steve's head. He ducks his head and disappears into the kitchen. He lets Steve stand beside the stairs. He hasn't given him an answer.

Danny grabs the ingredients for their breakfast from the fridge and waits for Steve's step on the stairs, waits and steadies himself to bow to the inevitable but he hears Steve's naked feet shuffling over the kitchen floor instead. 

Danny doesn't turn around. He searches for support at the countertop, feeling Steve's presence like an entity crowding his back. He is just about to cut the white mushrooms into slices when the sudden close contact cuts all the wires in his brain. Danny swallows his sob when Steve sneaks one arm around his neck over his chest, circling his shoulder with his fingers splayed wide over his upper arm, hugging him. Although Steve's severely injured, his body is a wall of heat and he pulls Danny gently but determinedly closer.

Danny still feels the dominating tremor in Steve's tensed muscles when his back makes contact with Steve's broad chest. For a moment, their breathing is the only sound in the kitchen next to the constant humming of the fridge. Danny's fingers are wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife and his other hand is holding a mushroom. He's so close to breaking down.

"I meant what I said yesterday." Steve's mouth is so close Danny feels his breath hot against his ear. "I love you, Danny." Steve's voice is as raspy as a stone-grinder, words chopped and pressed out with a strain to them.

Danny's hands still. He swallows against the rising feelings, throat tight and aching. He inhales once, twice. "I know." He hushes and clears his throat, not sure how to go on from here. He tries again, "I know," he repeats. 

Steve presses his face into the nape of Danny's neck. His grazing lips make Danny want to fold in half. Steve lingers, rubbing softly over hair and skin. His firm, solid hold around Danny's shoulders tightens, Steve's fingers dig into his muscles, warm and comforting, pulling him impossibly closer into this solid wall of muscles that is Steve's body. Danny's hands rest on the cutting board, knife and mushroom abandoned. He lets his head drop onto Steve's arm, rubbing his cheek over warm skin and fuzzy hair. They stand motionless for a moment, trying to get their emotions across through movements and gestures. Danny lifts his head and kisses the skin on Steve's arm with closed eyes.

Steve's nose skitters along the side of his throat. He rests against Danny's body, embracing him. The faint sigh escaping Steve lip's cracks something open in Danny's chest. Steve seldom talks about emotions, but he knows Steve's soul is starved and desperate. The honesty that accompanies this tender, shy intimacy unfolds a hidden universe from Steve's heart. Danny feels the unfurling of this love and everything is too big to process right now. It's so dense and rich that the air catches in Danny's throat.

"Go, have your shower. I'm here. Breakfast will be ready when you come down." Danny answers, his voice thick. He can't say anything else. He might cry if he tries. "Leave the bathroom door open." He adds, grazing his fingertips over Steve's arm. He tilts his head, snuggling into the curve of Steve's throat, forehead pressed against the constant drum of his strong pulse.

"Why?" Steve's lips rest gently against Danny's hair.

"I need to know that you're alright," Danny confesses.

Steve's breath stutters before he kisses Danny softly on the cheek. "Okay, I'll do that." Steve lets go and his hand lingers a moment longer on Danny's back before he heads upstairs.

Danny reaches out to switch on the kitchen radio, fumbling a few times, checking twice the different radio stations before he decides to listen to Hawaiian folk music. It's oddly comforting but he furrows his brows nevertheless and shakes his head. Ukulele sound fills the kitchen to sooth Danny's raw nerves, helping him to swallow down the tears of realization. The noise of the running water from the shower upstairs is clearly audible, settling Danny's churned up guts.

They'll make it through the day. One step at the time. Danny's skin tingles where Steve's kissed him. One step at the time.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://cowandcalf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!


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